I was a teenage buffet
by Dorothy Carnivale
Summary: You have to have seen the second and first movies for this to make anykind of sense as Bridgette is suffering the effects of the monkshood threw most of it. An alternate version of Ginger Snaps 2. What if the thing hunting Brigette was Human?...
1. The magic mushroom

Perched.  
  
Fighting it. Deep with in me. I can feel it. It's either the drugs or the wolf but something's definitely out of it in there.  
  
My guts. In trails. Organs. Vital Fluids. Blood.  
  
These word games are all I have left. I play them, night after night, hoping to god I'll wake up. And it'll be gone. I'll be with Ginger in Bailey Down's, with mom and dad and poor little Norman. Even Trina. I would never have gone out. Never learned about the wolf. Never had to infect myself. Ever.  
  
It's a fun game. Pretending. All I wanted to do was be different a year ago. Now I want more than anything to be normal. Just to be me. And have my Ginger back.  
  
My sister. My only friend. My protector. My fellow outsider.  
  
But she could never. She wont ever come back. At least not the same. Never the same. Too much has happened and now too much has changed. I lost Ginger. Then Sam. Then me. And my mind.  
  
My brain. Lobes. Occipital. Back of the head. Hair. Red hair. Orange. Ginger.  
  
Why didn't I try harder? Why didn't I try to save her? It really is my fault. Everything is my fault. I couldn't stop her from killing. I couldn't stop her from dying. What am I good for?  
  
Nothing. No thing. Thing. Some thing. Some one. No one. No body. No good. No.  
  
Here we go. The needle's at my arm. Do I really want to do this? Why not just give in? Why not give up?  
  
Renounce. Surrender. Resign. Relinquish. Quit. Stop.  
  
But I can't stop. That's what an addiction is. I can't stop. I never will. Not unless I give up. Not unless I let it take me like it took Ginger. No. Not that. Anything but that. Not like she died.  
  
Dead. Deceased. Departed. Lifeless. Without sensation. Frozen. Anaesthetized.  
  
Pressing. Inside my skin. Needles in. I press down . And the purple disappears. Oh God.  
  
God. Lord. Saviour. Jesus. Christ. Christian. Catholic. Holy.  
  
It burns. Sizzling my flesh. Burning. Grab the pen. Between my teeth. Hold close. And tolerate.  
  
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Counting.  
  
D O W N  
  
Okay it's gone. I take a breath. And suffer the aftermath. I'm dizzy. I'm out of it. I'm vapour. The Door. Shit.  
  
Twist the knob and pull close.  
  
"Hey, you forgot these at the library, I thought I'd bring them over. Figured you'd want…" His voice drops and then so do I. Catch me. I'm falling.  
  
"What did you take?" He's seen the needle. He's seen all the needles.  
  
He's talking. But I can't hear him. I'm cold. I'm moving. He's carrying me. Then I'm warm. A car. I'm in a car.  
  
Vehicle. Machine. Oil. Petrol. Gasoline. Tires. The wheel. A circle. Spinning.  
  
I'm panicking. So is he. But he's moving. I can't. That scares me more than anything. I'm frozen. I'm a statue. I'm weightless. Mindless. I'm disappearing.  
  
Fading. Diminishing. Vanishing. Deteriorating. Vapour. Evanescent. Gone.  
  
There's a crashing. Glass. The Glass is broken. Shit. On his side. Yes. He's screaming. He's falling away. Smashing.  
  
Crashing. Breaking. Shattered. Broken. Braking. Awaking. Okay, that's stretching it.  
  
He's gone. Pulled out. I'm coming back. What was his name? He works at the library. He keeps the books. Blood lettings. Or something to that effect. Why can't I remember? The drugs. Right, the drugs. Their doing this to me.  
  
I'm screaming. I've been screaming since the crashing.  
  
A hand. From my side of the car. Pulling me out. Up and out. A man. A tall man with dark hair. And a gun, a big one. He's grabbing at my arm, around the shoulder and dragging me away.  
  
I'm in another car. Still screaming. A hand, over my mouth. Oh god. The gun's at my head. I'm coming back now. Back to reality.  
  
He's driving away and I'm still. Afraid.  
  
Fearful. Terrified. Anxious. Troubled. Scared. Petrified.

(End Chapter One)


	2. captive

The world is spinning.  
  
I'm in a cell. I have been for three days. Three days since I've had it. The monkshood. I need it. And I feel it now more than ever.  
  
He's standing there. Has been for three days. Staring. Unspeaking. Unblinking. Hasn't said a goddamn thing. And it's pissing me off.  
  
"What do you want with me?" I'm speaking. I know he wont.  
  
"What does any man want with a hostile animal?" Animal? He knows.  
  
"To kill it." he says.  
  
"Just fucking try it."  
  
"Oh I will. I'll have my go at you eventually. But right now I need you. Or parts of you anyway."  
  
"Which parts?"  
  
"Any parts that can be slain with silver bullets." He really knows.  
  
"You watch too many monster movies." I tell him.  
  
"Enjoy your stay miss Fitzgerald." He leaves. How did he know that? My name, the wolf, all of it. How? The only other two people who ever really knew are dead.  
  
This cell. It's solid steel. It's not a cell. It's a cage. Funny. If your into irony. I'm trapped with the thing I'm trying to get away from.  
  
I grab the bars and scream. I wait. Five minutes and he still hasn't come. He knows. And that scares me more than anything .  
  
I crawl into a corner and hold my self.  
  
What the fuck am I going to do?  
  
Five days. Five days since he took me. I'm starving myself. It's the only way to discreetly kill myself before the wolf comes out. The only way to die with out him noticing.  
  
At night I don't dare sleep. He knows I wont let him touch me while I'm still awake. And I'm afraid of what he wants.  
  
What would any man want?  
  
The words we spoke still hang in my mind. Disturbingly so.  
  
He comes in and I look away. He reminds me of one of those old fox hunters. He has on torn green clothes and a hat. I don't know how to describe that damn hat. He mocks me. Sitting there. Sharpening his knife, a little dagger he carries with him every time he comes in.  
  
"So," He speaks first. He must want something. "How are we feeling?"  
  
"I'm stuck in a fucking cage with out my stuff how do think I feel? I feel like shit. I havent washed in five days."  
  
"Ten."  
  
"Ten days?"  
  
"You were unconscious for a week. You hit your head on the roof of that car when I pulled you out."  
  
"That's impossible. I would have died of starvation by now."  
  
"When you were asleep I fed you and gave you the drugs."  
  
"I haven't slept since I got here."  
  
"You don't remember falling asleep, that's why your so tired. You haven't actually slept, only passed out from exhaustion."  
  
It explains a lot. Why it isn't coming out in me. Why I'm not hungry. But no. Not possible. You can't feed some one when their asleep.  
  
"How'd you feed me then?"  
  
"A tube. In your throat"  
  
I reach for my neck. A tiny hole still dry blood around it. The tiniest hole. Barely noticeable, right in my collar bone. That bastard.  
  
"Your not a very good bad guy."  
  
"How's that.?" I have his attention. He's interested.  
  
"You told me everything you did and will do. How you did it. How to avoid it."  
  
"Oh, not everything. The last piece of the puzzle, the one I know your trying to jam into place, I will not reveal. It's useless information I've given you miss Fitzgerald. Not my plans. Don't sit there thinking you've got me all figured out. You haven't. And you wont. Because I'm not telling you a goddamn thing, got that? You can't trick me girl. Don't try." He leaves again.  
  
Useless information  
  
So why am I here? Why me? There's got to be a thousand more werewolves like me in the world. Fighting it off. Or urging it on.  
  
Used to be I couldn't wait for death. I wanted it so bad. I wanted to die. Now all I want is to survive. To exist. I don't want life. I just want subsistence.  
  
I will die here.  
  
God only knows what he's got planned for me. Let it be painless. Let me not suffer my death.  
  
I'm going crazy. I know it. I'm talking to a god I don't even believe in.  
  
Sanctuary  
  
Two months. He' s given me food, water, but otherwise ignored me. Between visit's he erases from my mind. Drop's off the face of the earth. If only.  
  
He provides monkshood once every three days. I take it and he leaves. As always.  
  
I don't understand. He says he needs the wolf. But then he gives me the cure, or repellent, for it. What does he want? Who is he? What is his name? How does he know about werewolves? How does he know about me?  
  
He finally speaks. He says their here for me. Who are they?  
  
A group of Parisian people, neo modern pagans or something like that. From france, for me. They're going to take me to Paris in a van in a cage for a month.  
  
I still don't understand. I don't understand anything. But I don't care. Let them take me. Let them burn me. And eat my ashes.  
  
Fuck them. Let them take what they want. I quit.  
  
(End Chapter) 


End file.
